All the Murmuring Bones

I don’t need you,’ I say, ‘I want you. That should be enough. That should be better because it means I’ve made a choice.

And a trace of a tale is all that’s needed to find your way in the world.

Love is a barbed hook and family the line to which it is tied. It digs deep and sometimes trying to remove it entirely does more damage than simply leaving the obstruction beneath the skin for a scar to grow over.

There's something magical about song and story when they're given, something unique.

Very few people are entirely good or bad, missy, but some ignore the calling of one or the other better than the rest of us.

Some folk make a point of not visiting pain on others when it’s been done to them; most people, though, think it’s their due to inflict a little of their own agony.

Mourning silk for my wedding gown. How appropriate.

Just hang on to whatever’s solid, Óisín would say, but it took me a long time to realise he meant I had to rely on myself: I was the only solid thing in that angry sea.

If I know anything for certain it’s that neither love nor hate is ever simple.

All the waters in the world are joined.

I actually do like dresses and skirts as long as they’ve got pockets.

prince of assassins felled so low by a woman and a tiny knife. ‘Life,’ I tell him as I sit on the bed to watch him die, ‘is full of surprises.

He knows about my purchased knives, yes, but not about Óisín’s pearl-handled knife, hidden deep within my pockets, and it’s an awful surprise to him that I slip it across his throat as he’s kissing me.

She was willing to sell me to regain a fortune. But I loved her because children always seek something to love, and I’ll miss her nonetheless

for I know if I lose my temper now, I’ll never get it back. When you’re angry all logic, all reason, flies out the window, and shouting, as Óisín was fond of saying wisely, achieves nothing

Their dealings were discreet, but things done ill always leave echoes and stains behind.

the Widow O’Meara accepted what I brought but gave me the same look she always does, and I hurried away just as I always do.

The prince of assassins felled so low by a woman and a tiny knife.

She's dead, taking all my answers with her.